The Broken Light Bulb
by Arty B. Good
Summary: Sometimes I have an idea that can't sustain itself and I've decided to put all these ideas in one place: here. This is a collection of unfinished & underdeveloped one-shots that may or may not get their own stories for a plethora of reasons.
1. The Trigger

Disclaimer: The Kids Next Door does not belong to me. I do not own any stake in the Kids Next Door franchise. I do not own any of the characters that appear in the Kids Next Door television show. I do not make any money off this story. Any other non-canon characters, however, are mine.

Additional Disclaimer: If, for any reason, I should mention anything else that does not belong to me (for instance: songs, television shows, internet webpages, other franchise/brand names, etc.) I shall have you know that I hereby disclaim any ownership of said things. I do not make any money off of those things. I also do not condone anything criminal or unlawful.

Now that the disclaimers are out of the way, I can welcome you to the Broken Light Bulb, named so because Bright Idea is a huge troll sometimes. This is a collection of unfinished and underdeveloped one-shots that may or may not get their own stories for a plethora of reasons. **If you're interested in seeing a specific one-shot become its own multi-chapter story, then please tell me. I might be persuaded to write more of it. If you are interested in using some of these ideas in your own stories, then please let me know about it and give credit where it's due.**

Enjoy.

**_= = = The Trigger = = = _**

There was a scar on her left hand. Rachel gingerly traced it with the tips of two fingers. It was around an inch long and discolored and it ran down her palm towards her fingers. It was slightly raised. Rachel turned her hand over to see its matching partner. It was smaller and thinner, but it was the same exact length as the one on her palm. Both of the scars lined up and Rachel grimaced. There was no doubt; her hand had been run through.

But when? Rachel wiggled her fingers and was reassured at how well her hand moved, but it did nothing to quell the disquieting fear churning in her stomach. She was sure she would remember something as traumatic as having her hand run through, but every time she racked her brain for the event she came up blank. There were other scars; small ones across her elbows and knees. There was also a fading, light-colored one running up her shin. None of them could be explained. And there was no reason why they should be there in the first place. Rachel was a quiet girl. She read books and kept to herself. She made the rare witty comment when it was needed, but otherwise…

Rachel rubbed the matching scars. It was remarkable, really, how articulate her left hand was despite the obvious past injury. Hands were complicated things full of tiny parts all working together seamlessly. It probably would have taken months of physical therapy to get her hand healed up again. Rachel thought that if she didn't remember getting the injury, then she should at least remember the therapy, but there was nothing. Rachel could almost imagine it: the bandages on her hand, the exercises she would have done, all the back and forth driving between the home and the hospital, but imagination was a poor replacement for memory.

"Darn it," Rachel sighed and dropped her hands in her lap. "What happened to me?"

_= = = Something really bad, obviously. Come on now, Rachel. = = = _

Rachel dreamed. She dreamed of impossible vehicles, all of which looked to have been made in junkyards, that flew across the sky and swam in the sea. She dreamed about guns made of mustard bottles and planks of wood and other spare parts. She dreamed of sneaking through corridors and through ventilation shafts, about cramming herself into tiny spaces and dodging the gazes of other people. She dreamed of performing remarkable feats of kung fu. She dreamed of betrayal. Every time Rachel woke up, it was with a strange sense of satisfaction and triumph mixed in with something else. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. But those dreams were so silly and the weapons and vehicles were so mechanically unsound. There was no way Rachel would ever be able to pull off a high jump kick, or do any parkour stunts. It was easy for Rachel to dismiss those dreams. To cram them into some dark corner of her brain and forget them.

She had better things to do, like homework and community service. There was a boy in her class who sat three rows to her right, with a dazzling smile and an air of ease that set the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She was trying to come up with a way to talk to him and so far the best thing she could come up with was to ask to borrow a pen.

But first, before she could ask for a pen and before she could make her way down to the library, she had to clean out her closet.

_= = = Oh, how the mighty have fallen. = = = _

There was a box in her closet. Rachel tugged it out into the open and then took up a pair of scissors to cut the tape. She opened it up and stopped. Rachel couldn't possibly explain the contents of the box. There were books, with dog-eared and yellowing pages, about Japanese ninja and martial arts. Rachel took the other, equally worn-out books out one by one: _The Anarchist Cookbook_, _The Zombie Survival Guide_, and _The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook_. There were books about defensive fighting, about dirty fighting, different styles of martial arts and books on human anatomy and the chemistry of explosives and about computer hacking and other such things. Rachel paled. She picked up one of the books with a trembling hand and opened it up. There were numerous little post-it flags stuck to the pages, each with an observation or other kind of comment written in pen. Other notes were written right into the book; in the margins. There was a heavy amount of highlighting.

On the page "How to jump from a bridge or a cliff into a river," there was the handwritten note, "kick off boots." On the page "How to jump from a moving car" there was the note, "do not do with suicide doors." What in the world were suicide doors? Rachel dropped the book and picked up another. It was treated the same way; commented on and highlighted thoroughly. Rachel put the second book down and leaned back. She stared at the books. She had never read any of them before. She had never even heard of any of those titles until now, but every single scrap of handwriting in them belonged to her.

"Impossible," Rachel muttered as she turned back to the box. She pulled out several bootleg dvd cases that were bound together by a couple rubber bands. The first dvd in the set was labeled "C.S.I: Crime Scene Investigation Season 1." There was also "Taken: Director's Cut," the James Bond books and books by someone named "Arthur Conan Doyle." There were also other cds whose labels said that they were some old Japanese films and other things. There was a collection of kung fu and martial arts tapes. There was even a sharp, fang looking kind of thing kept in a small, square, wooden box and a duffel bag filled with sparring gear. Rachel blinked at her handwriting, which graced all the labels.

"Am I keeping these for someone else," she asked herself. She pulled out several composition notebooks and flipped one of them open. _Operation Log_ was written in bold marker across the top of the page, followed by an example entry written in smaller print. Rachel flipped through it, slack jawed. All of it was written in her handwriting. There were several fold out maps stapled to some of the pages and each map also had notes and colored arrows drawn on them. Some of the pages had pictures stapled into them and beside each one was a name and a brief physical description explaining it. Rachel closed the notebook and pushed it away.

Too much, it was all too much. Rachel had never thought of playing spy, or of committing arson. She was a good girl! She kept her head down, did her homework, and spoke when was spoken to. And yet here was a lot of evidence that testified quite the opposite. According to the contents of this accursed box, she blew things up, she knew how to break bones, how to ambush someone. And yet Rachel could not, for the life of her, remember how any of this came into her possession. She didn't remember reading any of the books, or watching any of the bootlegged dvds. She didn't remember writing up anything in these notebooks and she certainly didn't remember acquiring the lock-picking tool kit or any other questionable items left in the box. She didn't even know the box was there!

Rachel gasped and her hands went to her mouth. What if…what if these things _were_ hers? And she just didn't remember because…because…

"Oh my gosh," she whispered. "If I have multiple personality disorder then…then…" She looked over the incriminating things again. "_Oh my gosh, I'm a_ _crazy person_."

She started shoveling the things back into the box.

"It was sealed up before, so maybe I wasn't using them! I can just put it away and just…forget about it…like a bad dream. Hopefully the other me doesn't wake up and decides to shoot up the town-" She stopped when something slipped out of one of the notebooks and clattered onto the desk. Rachel slowly set the box down and looked at it. It was another dvd in a slim case. On the case was "To Rachel" written in her own tidy hand. The dvd itself was unmarked.

Rachel bit her lip and reached out to the dedicated disc, then pulled back as if it burned.

"No! Holy sh…holy…this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening," she repeated it over and over again under her breath. "Wake up, wake up, wake up…" When she did not wake up from a dream as she expected, she swore again and snatched up the dvd. "Okay fine! You win! But Tyler Durden better not jump out at me or else I'm socking someone in the face." She put the dvd in the cd tray of her computer with trembling fingers and sat back, as far away from the screen as she could sit, and watched as a new window popped up on the screen.

Rachel immediately regretted putting the dvd in the computer, but there was no stopping it now and there was no way she was getting any closer to the computer while it was reading the infernal disc anyway. Rachel winced as a flurry of dazzling colors whipped across the screen. Then her jaw dropped as a chorus of annoying voices belted out a lively, but pitchy tune.

_Rainbow monkeys, rainbow monkeys/oh-so-very round and super chunky/bringing love wherever they go/everyone's made of a big rainbow!_

Rachel looked over her shoulder, at her open bedroom door, and hoped that Harvey wasn't anywhere within earshot of this shrill mess. She stepped over to her door and closed it.

_Oh, red and orange/and pink and blue/rainbow monkeys, rainbow monkeys/we love you! _

Rachel winced at the last note, then sobered up as the opening sequence of the Rainbow Monkey's cartoon show was rudely cut off and replaced by the image of a silent, cave-like room. There was a single lamp atop a wooden table and that was the only source of light. It wasn't bright enough to illuminate any of the walls. Rachel frowned as girl came into the frame. It was herself, wearing an orange, tiger-striped sweatshirt. Her other self looked a couple years younger but had tired shadows under her red eyes. The other Rachel sat in a chair behind the table and looked at the camera.

"Hello, Rachel," she said. Her voice was a tad bit higher-pitched than it was now, but more comanding. "It's me; the you from the past. If you are watching this then that means you were memory-wiped. Someone has been messing with my…your…our head," she gave a weak smile. "I'm making this to fix that. This is a trigger. I am going to tell you a story now, to prove that this isn't a hoax and I hope that your memory will come back, just like that." She snapped her fingers. "If it doesn't work, then you should read these," she held up a couple of the composition notebooks Rachel had found in the box. "These should tell you everything." The other Rachel paused and stared out into space for a moment, as if thinking, and her brows came together. Then she raised her left hand to the camera. Lo and behold, there was the exact same scar that Rachel had on her own hand. Rachel curled her hands into fists.

"It was a knife," the other Rachel said. "I…we…you were on a roof and it was sunny. But you wore brown, so you could blend in with the roof. You were a sniper and your codename was Numbuh 362. The Kids Next Door put you on sniper duty to watch out for enemy snipers. There was a boy with you, his codename was Numbuh 274. He should have been looking out for you while you were watching out for the other snipers, but he didn't. He…" The other Rachel went on, but Rachel had tuned her out. Her eyes glazed over as she absently rubbed her palm.

She already knew the rest of the story. Rachel was thrown back, up onto that roof, in her mind's eye. It _was_ hot, it was _sweltering_, and Number 274, Chad, wasn't paying attention because he was looking through their bags for a cold soda. A teen ninja crept up behind them with a knife.

"The soda's in there," Rachel had said. "In the first pocket." And she turned around to point at it so Chad wouldn't keep on unpacking everything and messing up all her good work. That's when she saw the teen ninja. He leaped forward and Rachel put up her hands to shield herself. And then there was pain and screaming and Rachel found herself on her side on that burning hot roof, staring stupidly at how the short knife had gone through and through, up to the heel, and how the tip of the knife sprouted from the back of her hand like some demonic flower from the ground. Everything was covered in blood. And then she was in a KND medical ward, with a very upset Chad and Rachel couldn't move her hand for pain and there was a medic who promised surgeries and stitches and the physical therapy Rachel always guessed she had.

There was more. The memories streamed on and on into her head, until she thought that it would burst and they still kept on coming. Names and places and people and things dropped into her head, fresh as the day she learned of them. Skills came unbidden into her mind and the limbs of her body became tools and weapons. The things from her dreams became real. All the things in the box became familiar. She had poured over all those books, took notes from the movies and television shows, learned everything she could to help her do her job and learned everything else just in case.

Rachel swept a new eye over her room. Useless knickknacks and toy-like things became dear and essential. Other useful things were jammed in other hiding places around her room, around her house. The mysterious key that she kept on her key ring held new meaning. She remembered putting all the notebooks together. She remembered the KND. She remembered being decommissioned. She remembered everything.

She remembered having unfinished business.

The computer finished playing the dvd and the screen became black. Rachel rubbed her temples. She was developing a monster of a headache. It was strange how memories made a person. Not five minutes ago she was a tame girl, terrified of the things she was discovering in her closet. Now she was still terrified, but older, more mature somehow. The things she had done and the things she had been through couldn't guarantee anything less but a more cynical, pragmatic way of looking at the world and people in it. Some people were bad and they needed their comeuppance. Other people were good and they needed to be defended. That was why she was the way she was. That was why she knew how to twist an arm just right so that it broke, why she knew how to mix chemicals together to make explosives, why she knew how to use a gun and was trained to use a basic first aid kit.

Rachel exited the dvd player program and somberly looked at the time and date on the toolbar.

"Time to trigger Fanny's memory."

_= = = Day-um, Rachel. You scary. = = = _

Rachel parked her vehicle along the street and cracked open one of the old notebooks to a random page.

_I remember the day I snuck into Father's mansion. It wasn't supposed to be my mission, because the mansion wasn't in my assigned region, but I was the best person for the job and so I was the one sent in. I was supposed to make a map and take pictures of the place and I was doing a good job until a Teen Ninja snuck up behind me. _

_Well, she tried to sneak up behind me. Her armor was loud and her breathing was loud. Everything about her was loud. I pulled my gun and turned around before she could raise her laser. She was crouched down and I put the muzzle of my gun to her forehead. _

_I thought she was fat at first. Her hands went straight to her stomach and it was round and large, but her face was thin. Her arms were thin. It was just her stomach that was so huge. She was scared, probably more scared than I was. _

"_Please don't shoot." That's what she said. I'll never forget her voice. "Please don't shoot me." _

_I didn't want to believe it. I mean, she was in _armor_ for crying out loud. To be out here like that – if she was like that – then she would have to be really stupid. I had to know for sure if she was. I lowered my gun and aimed it at her stomach. She started crying. _

"_No, please don't shoot me! Oh, God, I'm already six months." _

"_Go home," I said. "Go home and don't come back." _

_She nodded. I nodded. The both of us turned around and ran off in opposite directions. _

Rachel closed the notebook and leaned back in her seat. She never saw that girl again and that was probably for the best. She had destroyed so many things as a KND spy. She had pissed off so many people. If she happened to come across just one of them while she was mind-wiped, then it would have been the end. The other person would probably come after her and the mind-wiped Rachel wouldn't understand why and wouldn't know how to defend herself. She would have been an easy target.

That was part of what terrified her even now. Rachel flipped through the composition notebook. Part of her knew everything in it. That same part of her just accepted that this was her reality now. She was a human weapon. That was it. End of story. The other part of her, the mind-wiped part, the Rachel that was allowed to live unhindered for two years, was still utterly horrified. She was scared of everything: her newly remembered past, her dangerous skills, her abject indifference at the lot of it, and now what her new goal was.

"Oh, stop freaking out," Rachel muttered to herself. "It's not that bad. It could be worse."

The inner Rachel pointed out the fact that she was now talking to herself.

"Easily remedied: you just have to shut up."

But the other Rachel would not be pacified. She demanded that some part of the overall psyche should have some decency and _not be a monster_.

Monster. Rachel tapped two fingers against her chin in thought. Yes, she could be that. She probably _was_ that. It wouldn't be the first time she labeled herself as such. And it wouldn't be the first time she came to terms with it either. As easy as that she dismissed it. Acknowledging it won't make it better and she had better things to do.

The other Rachel perked up and said that there was homework to be done.

"Eh," Rachel waved it away. "That wasn't what I was talking about. And you've got room to slack off." She couldn't do it anyway if she wanted to. Her homework was back at home, on her desk. Rachel was sitting in an old ship parked across the street from Fanny's house.

The only reason why she didn't just bust in there and trigger Fanny's memory was because she had settled for observing instead and then after that Rachel didn't know if she had the heart to pull the memory trigger at all. Fanny seemed _happy_. She had friends. She smiled and laughed. Hell, she was _dating_ and her boyfriend seemed pretty cool too. Rachel sighed. She couldn't take that away from Fanny. It wouldn't be fair.

Rachel knew that if she was dating and had friends and some freak showed up on her doorstep and proved her to be someone totally different than she was, then she would get livid. Rachel blinked and went over that again.

"Oh man," she muttered to herself. "No boyfriend? Okay, I can dig it. But no _friends_? You are so lame. Whatever." Rachel turned on the engine and made for liftoff. "Let's take care of this business first and then we can work on the 'no friends' part." She paused. "Yeah, yeah, and the homework."

SLAM!

Rachel gasped and cut the engine. Fanny stood out in front of the vehicle, with her hands splayed over the hood. She glared. Against her better judgment, Rachel rolled down the window.

"Hi."

"The hell are yeh doin' watching my house?" Fanny growled out.

"What? No. I wasn't," Rachel faltered. It was always difficult to lie to Fanny when she scowled like that. "I was…lost. I think I'll just backtrack and find my way from there."

"I've seen yeh before, haven't I?"

"…No?"

"Don't lie to me!" Fanny slammed her hands down on the hood again and Rachel jumped. "I have! I know it!"

"Well, maybe I just have one of those faces, don't you think?" Rachel shouted back. "Get off my car, so I can leave." The two girls glared at each other.

"What kind of car is this, anyway?" Fanny stepped back and looked at the car.

"It's a _you're-on-something-illegal-that's-why-it-looks-that-way_ kind of car," Rachel started the engine and backed up. She turned the wheel and made her way around Fanny, then drove off down the street. Rachel looked in the rearview mirror and watched Fanny take a few steps after her, as if she was thinking about chasing after her, but stopped.

"Good girl," Rachel whispered. "Stay. Be happy."

_= = = Stop talking as if Fanny's a dog, Rachel. She isn't. Well, she _was_ for some time, but she doesn't remember anymore. And she isn't a dog _now_. = = = _

I apologize for the darker and edgier feel, but to be fair, this is rated T. And I seem to be incapable of writing anything less than T. (The themes and language, they speak to me.)

I know that if I was in danger of losing my memory, I would create a failsafe. I would document all that I thought I would forget, then hide it away so that the people messing with my head wouldn't find it, but put it somewhere so that I would eventually find it. Memories make us who we are. Without some of them a lot of us would be totally different people.

So…you like? You don't like? Should I continue this story? Should I not? Please leave some comments on your way out. Thanks for reading.

– Arty


	2. The Will

If you want to see this as its own story, then hit me up in a review and tell me to make it happen. But **WARNING**: if this is made into a story, then it's gonna have to be in the M category. There's a lot of intense themes and language that I don't think the T category will cover. This one shot's okay for this rating...I think.

_= = = The Will = = = _

Rachel McKenzie was dead. Fanny sat in her car, still parked in the parking lot, and stared out into space. A copy of the will lay on the dashboard before her, looking rather innocent. Fanny hadn't opened it yet. She didn't want to open it. The mere existence of such a thing was unacceptable. Fanny felt that if she didn't open it up, and if she ignored it, then it would go away and the universe would right itself and another letter would come in which Rachel's lawyers apologized for their mistake and assure Fanny that Rachel was still alive and well.

But that wasn't going to happen.

Rachel McKenzie was dead. Fanny's gaze shifted to the newspaper clipping that was sent to her. The whole entire thing was still under investigation. The house had caught fire, and had burned to the ground before the fire fighters could get there. Rachel's body was missing. Nigel Uno was able to escape the blaze in time, but had gone missing himself before they could get any information from him.

Fanny turned on the car and shifted gears and thought about how much she wanted to drive off a cliff. The city did not have a cliff, but there was a bridge. Fanny stared at the rough, dark surface of the water. It would have been so incredibly easy to just jerk the steering wheel to the right and then drive through the railing and then drop into the sea. So simple. So accessible. The driver behind her honked his horn and Fanny drove on.

If she couldn't drive off a bridge, she could still go home, crawl into bed and then stay there. For the rest of her life. Fanny groaned. She couldn't even do that, there were things she had to do. Fanny parked and went into the apartment building. She went up the stairs, then reached on tip-toes for the key hidden above the door frame. She went in.

The floor was littered with glass bottles. The toe of one of Fanny's shoes sent one rolling across the floor and Fanny clicked her tongue.

"Patton?" Fanny called. "It's me."

"Whoop…de-doo," a voice came out from the dark bedroom. "You said you'd never come here again."

There was a letter on the kitchen counter, identical to the one Fanny had on her dashboard. "You got one too."

"Yeah," Patton appeared in the bedroom, unshaven, wearing boxers and a stained undershirt. He raised a bottle to his lips. "I'm not going."

"You have to."

Patton laughed. It was cold and sharp and it twisted his face into something ugly. Fanny winced.

"I think you've had enough."

"Fuck you!" Patton threw the bottle to the floor, where it cracked into pieces. "Out of all the guys she could have picked, she had to pick Nigel! She just had to pick that fucker!"

"She loved him!"

"And look what happened," Patton yelled. "He couldn't protect her!"

"You think you're the only one who wanted different?" Fanny felt her face get hot. "Ya ignorant bastard, don't act like yer the only one who loved her."

"What, like you did?" Patton chuckled, then laughed, then laughed some more. "Ha ha ha! Oh, fuck!"

Fanny clenched her fists, then ran at him. She caught Patton by surprise by tackling him to the floor, then she punched him and twisted him around into an armbar hold.

Just like Rachel taught her.

"Fanny," Patton gurgled. "Okay, I give. I'm sorry." He gasped as the grip loosened and Fanny rolled away. Silence fell over the apartment. After a few moments, Fanny's breathing hitched and Patton looked at her. Her shoulders shook. He reached over, but she moved away.

"Don't," she said. Her voice cracked. "Don't even."

"…Will you drive?"

"…Yeah," she said. "I'll drive."

Patton got up and went to take a shower.

_= = = … = = = _

The drive to the lawyer's office was silent. The wait outside of the office was silent too. Fanny's eyes were red and Patton was developing a killer headache. He avoided bright light as much as he could and asked to borrow Fanny's sunglasses. Fanny sneered, but instead of making a crack at him wearing women's glasses, she handed them over without a word. He took them off when they entered the lawyer's office.

"Mr. and Mrs. Drilovsky, I presume," the lawyer asked. Patton paled and Fanny turned red.

"We're not married," she said. "I'm Francine Fulbright."

"Oh," the lawyer motioned to the two seats in front of his desk. "Terribly sorry. My files have the wrong information. Miss McKenzie told me that you two were together."

"We haven't been together in a while," Patton said. "Can we cut the small talk?"

"Yes," the lawyer took out a sheaf of papers. _"I, Rachel McKenzie, being of sound mind and body, hereby bequeath my possessions stated below to those listed in the unfortunate case of my being declared deceased, incapacitated, or missing. _

"_To Patton and Francine Drilovsky, or, in case they didn't get married, to Francine Fulbright and Patton Drilovsky, I hereby grant guardianship of my daughter, Tyra Alexandria McKenzie…"_

"What?" Fanny shrieked. Patton's knuckles went white as he gripped the armrests of his chair. "Her daughter? She has a _daughter_?"

"Indeed," the lawyer frowned. His expression softened when he turned around and opened the door to the rest of his office. "Tyra," he said. "Come here. There are some people here I want you to meet."

Fanny stood up as a little girl wandered into the room. She was a tiny thing, with the same blonde hair and brown eyes as Rachel. The same everything as Rachel, actually. Right down to the haircut. Tyra looked at Patton and Fanny with those big brown eyes and backed away.

"Tyra," the lawyer began.

"Where's my mom," Tyra said. Her eyes screwed up and her lip trembled. Fanny gasped. They even sounded the same. "Where's Mommy? She said she'd come back for me."

"Your mother is…well…"

"She promised," Tyra pulled away, her eyes shiny. "She promised, she _promised_ me! She's coming back! Where is she? Where…"

Fanny turned and bolted out of the office. She wasn't aware that Patton had followed her until he caught hold of her wrist.

"No!" Fanny twisted out of his hold, only for him to catch her other hand. "Don't."

"Fanny," Patton pulled her in.

"I can't go in there," she whispered as she tried to pull away. "I can't. Don't make me."

"You have to."

"No," she pounded on his chest and burst into tears. "No! I can't. It's wrong. It's _all_ wrong. Rachel wouldn't just die and leave her kid like this. She wouldn't!"

"Well, she did," Patton scowled. "And I thought Uno wouldn't just leave his kid all alone either, but he sure proved me wrong." His grip on her hand loosened as Fanny stopped hitting him.

"Let's go back. We're all that girl has left."

Fanny nodded. They went back to the office and sat back in the chairs before the lawyer's desk as if they had never left. Tyra crouched in the corner of the office faced away from them, sniffling. The lawyer looked rather embarrassed.

"Her things," he pointed at a box to Patton's left. "What's left of them. I've noticed that you live at separate addresses?"

"Yes," Patton said.

"I recommend that you two move in with each other. It won't be good for the child to be moving around all the time. The social worker will check in on you from time to time to make sure that things…are going smoothly."

"We won't mess it up," Patton said.

"See that you don't," the lawyer said. Then he brought out paperwork. When it was time to take Tyra home, Patton drew himself up and straightened his shirt.

"I'll do it."

"You," Fanny snorted. "You're going to get her? Really?"

"I was just going to pick her up. Throw her over my shoulder. No big deal."

"Yeah, no," Fanny walked over to Tyra and crouched down next to her. "Tyra?"

"Tear-a," Tyra sniffled. She made little designs in the carpet with her finger. "Like tiers of a cake, or tears from an eye. That's what my mom says."

"I'm sorry," Fanny said. "Uhm…I'm an old friend o' yer mum's. You might've heard of me."

Tyra looked at her. "Aunty Fanny?"

"Ah…uh huh," it was if a concrete block had dropped in Fanny's stomach. She was an _aunt_. She had a _niece_. "That's me. Yer mum asked me to take care of you."

Tyra looked at her. "Do you know where she is?"

_Heaven_ was the first answer to come to mind. Her catholic mother and upbringing demanded she give that answer. But Fanny found that she didn't want to give that answer. She also didn't want to give something else, like Rachel was in Tyra's heart, or that she was watching over her, or anything like that. Rachel was gone. She wasn't coming back. Knowing that she was somewhere else besides living on this plane of existence was a bad taste in Fanny's mouth.

"I don't know," she said. "I miss her something awful, y'know."

Tyra stopped making crop circles in the carpet. "Yeah. Okay. I'll go with you. I'll stay until my mommy picks me up."

Fanny took Tyra's hand and led her out of the office.

_= = = … = = = _

It was quiet in the car. Tyra's legs swung off the edge of the backseat and the box of her belongings were set in the seat next to her. Patton cleared his throat.

"Where should we live?"

"Huh? Oh," Fanny sighed. "I don't know. I don't know if my building even likes kids. It's a quiet place."

"Hmm. My place is a mess."

"My lease is ending soon. And it's more expensive than yours, if I remember correctly."

"Okay," Patton said. "We'll stay at my place."

They ended up going to Fanny's place first, to cancel the rest of the lease and to pick up her belongings. Fanny blushed at the state of her apartment. She hadn't bothered to unpack at all and was living out of boxes. Patton took up one of the two picture frames and looked at Fanny as if in pain.

"Fanny, you still have this?"

Fanny plucked the picture from his hands and put it into a box. "It's nothing."

"It is not nothing."

"Can we drop it?" Fanny took the other picture frame and put that away too. "What's done is done. Can't change it now."

"I'm sorry."

Fanny stopped and looked at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Patton repeated, his shoulders square. "It was uh," he glanced at Tyra. "It was an awful thing for me to do. Out of all the ways to end it, that was the worst. I could have done better."

Fanny stared at him, as if she were weighing his words. "We both could have done better."

_= = = … = = = _

Rachel played the piano. No classical music though; her skill at reading music wasn't very good. She instead learned to play the songs on the radio by ear. Fanny learned the mandolin the same way. before she moved away with Uno, Rachel would invite Fanny over for jam sessions. Her mandolin was a fake Gibson, bought by her father for around twelve dollars and presented as the real thing. Fanny stared into space as she tuned it. Patton and Tyra were meeting with the landlord to make sure that their arrangement wouldn't get them kicked out. Fanny was supposed to start unpacking, but all she felt like doing was tuning this old, fake thing. It was just like her father to buy a knock-off too, even though he could afford the real deal multiple times over. Fanny didn't complain all the same. An instrument was an instrument. She finished tuning it and realized that she didn't feel like playing it at all.

The door opened and Patton and Tyra came in. Patton held his face and Tyra ran to Fanny, crying.

"Oh fer…mmph," Fanny bit her tongue to keep from cursing as she hugged Tyra. "We haven't been here fer ten minutes yet and yer already bleedin."

"I did not start it," Patton said. "I swear. Mr. Dostoyevsky is drunk again."

"Mister 4E?"

"Yeah, him," Patton uncovered his face to reveal a cut over his brow. "I do not care what anyone says, I don't owe him twenty dollars."

"Okay, okay," Fanny set the mandolin aside and picked Tyra up. "Calm down, lass. Ain't no bad men in here. It's just us. We'll be okay. Okay?"

"…Okay," Tyra mumbled against her shoulder. Patton's brows went up.

"Wow. That was easier than I thought."

"Indeed," Fanny set the girl down at the kitchen table and, before she could stop herself, kissed her forehead. Tyra smiled and reached for a stray fortune cookie inside a Chinese take-out bag. Fanny turned to Patton. "Well, let's see the mess."

"I'm not a baby," Patton said, but he sat down next to Tyra all the same. Fanny brushed his bangs back.

"It's not that bad. It's worse than it looks cause of all that blood." She took out a cleaning agent and Patton grimaced.

"Oh, it's okay. I'll just use soap and water…" But Fanny grabbed him and scrubbed. "Ow-ow! Sadistic woman, you're doing it on purpose."

"Stop squirming!" Fanny threw the pad down and blew on the cut. Patton stopped moving and Tyra looked back and forth between the two of them, chewing on the last bits of the cookie.

Fanny dabbed the cut with antiseptic and stepped back. "There yeh go, you overgrown infant. It's not…" she trailed off as she caught the look on Patton's face. She'd seen that look many times before. Something churned in her gut and she knew that it needed to stop.

"Tyra's hungry," she whispered. "We need to get her something to eat."

"Oh, yeah," Patton looked down, then smiled at Tyra. "I'll go pick something up for us."

"Later," Fanny waved once as he left.

"Do you love him," Tyra asked. Fanny blinked at the question.

"Well, we're friends, if that's what you mean."

"But do you love him? 'Cause he doesn't love you."

Something jarred in Fanny's heart. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he doesn't hit you."

"What?"

"He doesn't hit you," Tyra said. It was as if she were discussing the merits of the color pink over yellow. "That's how I know."

Fanny stared at the girl. It sounded as if…but no, that was impossible. "Hitting someone isn't an act of love, Tyra. It's violence."

Tyra tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Fanny paused. "It's like, if you love someone, then you want the best for them, right? That doesn't include pain. If you just pointlessly hit someone all the time, then you don't want what's best for them. You just want them to feel pain."

"Oh," Tyra's face fell and Fanny frowned. "Okay."

"What were your parents like around each other, Tyra?" Fear, as large and as heavy as a stone, sank deeper and deeper in Fanny's gut with each word of the question, but she knew it had to be asked. The little girl gave her a look that reflected how she felt and began to speak.

= = = … = = =

Rachel McKenzie was dead. Patton sighed. Why did she have to be dead? There was no funeral, so at least that was put off. If it was always put off then perhaps he wouldn't have to come to terms with it. He and Fanny would be unpaid babysitters for years and years and Rachel could come traipsing through the door at any moment, beautiful and alive and well and wondrous, and she would thank them for taking care of her daughter before moving in with them.

Patton sighed again. Speaking of Rachel's daughter, He didn't blame Fanny for running out on her in the lawyer's office. If he didn't know better, he would have said that Tyra was Rachel's clone, who just happened to be the right age to pass as her daughter. It was tough to look at her at all.

"I'm not gonna hate her," Patton mumbled to himself. Rachel's death and Rachel's looks weren't Tyra's fault, so he wasn't going to act like it was. Tyra deserved good guardians, so he was going to be one.

That was easier said than done. He hadn't spent one whole day as her guardian yet and he was already setting a bad example. The instant they had arrived at his apartment was the instant Tyra had seen the empty beer bottles everywhere. And there were also the glass shards from the bottle he had smashed earlier. Fanny, in an unusual show of patience, helped clean up and even took up the broom and dustpan to sweep the broken glass away before Tyra could hurt herself.

And now, instead of cooking something for the little girl, he was bringing back Chinese take-out. Fantastic. Patton reached into his pocket for his keys and dropped them. Stupid keys. Stupid door. Stupid fire. Stupid Uno. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Everything stupid. No doubt Fanny would have agreed with him a few years back. He groaned and started kicking the door.

"Stupid…girls. Fucking piece of crap-key! Shit!" He crouched down. "Arrgh, what am I doing? I'm not cut out to be a father. I can't take care of a grown-ass woman, let alone a kid. Let alone a girl. Shit. A _girl_. I don't know jack shit about girls. Are they already potty trained at that age?" He groaned again, but stopped when he realized that Fanny was going to help him. He scooped up his keys, then made his way up to the apartment.

Tyra sat next to Fanny on the couch. She was reading aloud to herself from a fairytale book. There were tell-tale scorch marks across the cover, but Tyra seemed not to take notice of them.

"Uncle Patton!" Tyra put the book aside and dashed to him.

"Hey, dudette."

"Patton," there was a grave look on Fanny's face. "We need to talk."

_= = = End of the shot = = = _

There's a lot of groaning in here, isn't there? And it's pretty difficult to write from a kid's perspective, but it's worth the effort for the things they say. I don't have anything else to say about this piece expect that this is full of angst and if this got you to cry, or at least tear up, then _mission complete_.

Arty out!


	3. Random Moments

This is a collection of disjointed moments that I would like to put into stories, so don't be surprised when you see them in another one of my pieces. Each is 100 words at most. Only a couple moments are connected.

* * *

><p>Rachel rushes in, her nose and eyes red. Patton looks up from his newspaper.<p>

"I'm married," Rachel says. "I'm married to Nigel Uno. I'm _happy_."

"Then why," Patton says. "Are you crying?"

* * *

><p>"So, wait. You <em>can<em> talk," Kuki asked. Joey nodded his head and brought out his electric razor.

"He hangs it around his neck on a shoelace," Wally explained. "So he can bring it with him all the time, just in case."

"But you don't like to use it," Kuki said. "Why?"

Joey frowned and turned on the razor. He held it against his throat. _"Because it makes me sound like a robot."_

* * *

><p>Bartie stands in the doorway of the hospital room, a bouquet in his hand. Virginia's already awake and she's propped up so she can look out the window. One of her bandaged hands reaches up and scratches at the bandage on her shoulder.<p>

"Hey," Bartie whispers. Virginia looks at him with wide eyes. "You okay?"

"No," Viginia shouts. She bursts into tears and bows her head. "How can I be okay? People are trying to kill me! With freaking knives and broken bottles!" She flops back onto the pillows. "I'm a girl. I'm a _girl_. Why don't they believe me?"

* * *

><p>Valerie leans in and frowns. "I am tired of you setting the grade curve, Abigail."<p>

"Then you should go home," Abby says. "Ain't my fault you can't keep up wi' me."

"You," Valerie sputters. "You uppity girl!"

"'_Uppity!' _Aw hell-"

"Stop it, both of you," Kuki pushes them apart and glares. "This isn't helping-"

"Shut up," Valerie says. "You freaking dog-eater!"

The class hushes. Kuki freezes and turns red. "Dibs!" she shouts at Abby.

"What? Nah, girl. She insulted me first!"

"Too bad," Kuki shouts. "I called dibs!" She whirls and whips the back of her hand across Valerie's face.

* * *

><p>Rachel falls to the ground, clutching her chest and gasping for breath. Chad and Cree share a look.<p>

"Are you serious?" Cree says. "Man, what's wrong wit' yo' girlfriend?"

Chad rolls his eyes and crouches down next to Rachel, who grinds her teeth in pain.

"Come on, babe," Chad whispers. "Stop acting and get up. You're embarrassing me."

* * *

><p>Genki stirs milk and sugar into her tea. As she stirs, she watches her husband chase Kuki through the house.<p>

"Why da white boy?" Kani yells because Kuki holds the couch throw pillows over her ears. "Why him? Why not Asian boy? More polite. Better grades."

"I know, right?" Mushi mutters.

Genki's brow goes up. "You've dated white boys before too, Mushi."

"Exactly," Mushi rolls her eyes. "Been there, done that. You'd think she'd learn from my mistake."

They pause as Kani yells again. "You need help meeting boys? I know good one; Hiyashi's boy. I call him for you!"

* * *

><p>Wally shuts the door behind him and smiles at Joey, who sits on the floor and watches a cartoon. Joey's laughing, only he isn't going 'haha' as much as he is just whistling and wheezing.<p>

"Hey, squirt," Wally says.

_Wally_, Joey mouths. He brings up his hands and signs, _Help me with homework_

"Sure," Wally says and signs too.

_Essay_

"Oh no. You know I'm bad with words."

Joey frowns and brings out an electric razor. He turns it on and holds the non-business end against his throat. _"If you don't try, how will you know if you're bad at it?"_

* * *

><p>Rachel falls and groans, revealing blood-stained teeth. Negative 362 walks away and wipes her nose.<p>

"You see?" Negative 362 grins. "_You're_ the cheap knock-off." She turns and jumps off the building. As soon as she's gone, Fanny crawls from behind the vents towards Rachel.

"Hey, you," Rachel whispers. She's very pale. "I thought I told you to scram."

"Like I'd leave you alone with…_that_," Fanny presses her fingers against the side of Rachel's neck. "There's so much blood. I'll have to cut you out of your shirt."

"Ah, yeah whatever," Rachel tries not to grimace. "If it's you, it's okay."

* * *

><p>The IT brother slings his backpack over his shoulder and looks over Lee's head at Sonya, who is still talking to the teacher.<p>

"What a pretty girlfriend you have," he drawls. Lee scowls and represses the urge to hit him.

"Yeah," he says. "She's not all looks either."

"Hmm," the brother looks back down at Lee. "The question is if you can keep her." An arrogant grin spreads across his otherwise aloof face. "See you later." He walks away with a slight swagger and winks at a group of girls, who giggle and follow him like a posse.

* * *

><p>Fanny sighs as she sinks into the couch and props her feet on Patton's lap.<p>

"You know what, Drilovsky? You're alright."

"So glad I have your approval," Patton mutters.

"Yeah. I like you. I mean, I have horrible taste, but I like you."

Patton frowns at Fanny, who wears a shit-eating grin. "I tolerate you so much."

"You have taught me the value of patience," Fanny says.

"Oh yeah, well…what is this about?"

"I respect you, Drilovsky, so I'm warning you now."

"About what?"

"That if it doesn't work with Rachel, then I will try my darned best to seduce her."

* * *

><p>Kimberly pinches the bike tire with two fingers. "You ride this one on the road?"<p>

"Yeah," Lance says. "It's no big deal, just a standard road bike."

"But you ride this to the hub too?"

"Yeah."

"Then you should get better shocks," Kimberly looks up at Lance. "The frame's good, but it won't survive the hills for long without some good shocks, yeah?"

"Yeah, I just haven't had any time to get any."

"I could whip some up for you if you want."

"Sure, but you don't have to…"

"I'd like to," Kimberly says. "It'd be no problem at all."

* * *

><p>That's all I got for now. I have this rule of thumb that if a character is meant to be hated, then readers should hate that character within the least amount of words possible. Like, "how is it that you can say only three words and I hate you already?" Like that. Space is precious. Words should work for their space in a story. If I can make a character hatedloved/adored/reviled by readers within only three words, I'll do it.

Oh, and Valerie needs to go eat a d ck.


	4. The Trigger 2

_= = = Trigger 2 = = =_

Patton sits up on the surfboard and smooths his wet hair back from his forehead. The sea rocks him back and forth and a tame wave rolls past him. He licks his lips, puckers, begins to whistle a tune.

_Little surfer, little one_

_Made my heart come all undone_

"Do you love me, do you surfer girl," Patton breaks out into song in the last line, then coughs and looks around to see if anyone is within earshot. No one is, so he relaxes. Patton is a decent surfer; he's surfed since he was seven. Before that, his father would take him out on the longboard and teach him how to swim. His father swears that if he had it his way, Patton would have been born out on the ocean.

Patton paddles out into the path of an oncoming wave and rides it back to shore. The board whips back and forth under his feet like a wild animal, and he grins because he knows that it does what it does because he tells it to do so. It's as simple as shifting his weight and changing his stance. It's better than snowboarding really, even though he's competent at that too. When Patton reaches the shore, he steps into the shallows and winks at two girls, who giggle and blush. One of them adjusts her bikini top.

Yep, definitely better than snowboarding. But Patton isn't really interested in strange girls, no matter how well-endowed they might be. No, he's only interested in one particular girl. He hasn't seen her in a while though. He hasn't seen her in years. He only remembers seeing her once, at this beach. She was tall, (at least, she was back then,) blonde, with a wicked grin that made him want to ask what she was plotting. For some reason, even though he hadn't seen her before, he gave her a day-long surfing lesson.

They were rather comfortable with each other, Patton remembers, despite being total strangers. They just sort of clicked. So Patton comes here to surf when he can and hopes to bump into that girl again. Perhaps the next time, there can be a name and a number to go with the girl. It's getting late, however, so Patton picks up his surfboard and tells himself that he'll have to try another day, as the mysterious girl isn't showing up. He dries off some, secures his surfboard to the top of his sister's jeep, and heads for home.

He's careful not to do any illegal maneuvers, because he doesn't have a license yet and his sister would kill him if he returned her precious jeep with a new scratch on it. But she might kill him anyway because Patton didn't ask before he sneaked the keys out from her jacket pocket. Patton drives halfway around the island before he reaches home and when he reaches home, he leaves the jeep running and bolts out the car.

The house, a tidy, sturdy building built by Patton's grandfather, is crumpled. A part of the roof has been ripped off and the front door is missing. The porch sags. Patton runs across the yard, kicking bruised fruit and broken branches from the fruit trees out of his way, and into the house.

"Mom," he calls out. The entire place has been ransacked. Patton does a double take at the piece of broken wood he steps on and recognizes it to be a piece of his father's ukulele. "Dad! Come on! Is anyone here?"

There is no blood. Patton goes through the ruined kitchen, the bathroom, all the bedrooms and does not see one speck. Perhaps they escaped. Hope blossoms in Patton's chest and he takes out his cell phone. He dials and waits.

"_Hello,"_ someone says and Patton freezes because that someone doesn't sound like his sister at all. _"Finished gallivanting already?"_

"Who are you?"

"_The person keeping your family hostage,"_ there's some static, and then Patton hears his father saying:

"_Patton? Boy, don't do what he says, it's a trap!"_

Static again, then, _"Where is Nigel Uno?"_

"Who?" Something twinges in the back of Patton's mind, but it's lost as soon as it happens.

"_Don't. Toy. With. Me. You know where he is. You will bring him to me, or else the well-being of your family is forfeit." _

"Wait, who-?"

"_You know where to find me."_ CLICK. The line goes dead. Patton stares at his phone with a slack jaw before he goes into his room. He rummages through the debris of his desk and finds what he's looking for hiding underneath the smashed printer. It's a padded envelope and even though a good portion of it is stained with black ink, the words FOR EMERGENCY ONLY are still legible. Patton's kept this envelope for a long, long time. He doesn't remember getting it, but he does know that it would something his grandfather would put together for some sort of situation, so he left it alone and only moved it around to another place when he cleaned his room. Patton rips open the envelope and lets the contents slide out onto the bed.

There are two CDs, a small bundle of money (all in twenty's), a folded piece of paper, a bronze house key, and a polaroid picture. Patton's heart skips a beat: it's a picture of the mysterious girl. Patton picks it up with two fingers. All these years of looking, and there she is, beaming up at him. He's surprised to find that she looks a bit tired, but wonders why in the world her picture would be included in this kit.

PLAY ME is scrawled across one of the CDs, so Patton picks it up, but it snaps into three pieces.

"Oh," Patton curses and tosses the remains across the room. The other CD is also useless, so he turns to the folded paper, which turns out to be a letter.

_Dear Patton, _

_If you are reading this letter, then your life must be in danger. Please, if you can, watch what's on the dvd. Hopefully, it'll explain everything. If something's happened, and you can't, then it is important that you follow the instructions I give you now in this letter. In the order I give them to you. _

_1. Do not attempt to solve the problem yourself. _

_2. Do not call the police. _

_3. Pack some clothes in a bag. It has to be a carry-on. _

_4. Use some of the money to get to the mainland by plane. _

_5. Use some of the money to get to the address listed below. _

_6. Find the girl in the photo. She will answer to "Rachel McKenzie." _

_7. Give her the second dvd. Make her watch it. _

_8. If the dvd has been destroyed, then tell her to look into the box in her closet. Tell her to watch the dvd in that box._

_9. All of this must be accomplished within 12 hours of opening the envelope. _

_As soon as you're done reading this letter, you must burn it. As soon as you're done with your dvd, you must smash it. I'm sorry, Patton. I'm so sorry. I wish that we could meet again under better circumstances, but is seems we don't have that luxury. _

_Good luck. _

There is no signature. Patton crumples the letter in his hand, then flattens it out again so he can copy Rachel McKenzie's address on the back of the picture. He places the picture in his hat.

= = = … = = =

Patton stares at the picture all throughout the trip. He thinks about that day on the beach. He thinks about the way Rachel's mouth moves when she speaks and wonders why he can't remember what she sounds like. He wonders what she looks like now.

He also thinks about his family. How they're doing now, how they'll have to fix up the house again when they're free. Because they _will_ be free. Any other alternative is impossible. Patton takes the 'unaccompanied minor' tag from around his neck and throws it into a nearby trashcan, then hails a cab.

"Hey," he shows the cab driver the back of the picture. "You know this address?"

"Sure do," the driver says. He pulls away from the curb.

= = = … = = =

The door opens after Patton knocks twice. It's opened by Rachel. Rachel, all grown up, with her bangs swept over her left eye. Her jaw snaps shut and she flushes bright red.

"Can I help you," she asks.

"Ah, yeah," Patton stammers. He mentally curses at how idiotic he sounds. "I…I need your help. There was this letter…and then there's this picture. My parents are missing…there's this box in your closet and…"

Rachel's eyes widen. "Oh my gosh!"

"Wha-"

"Get out!" Rachel tries to slam the door shut, but Patton shoves his foot in. The door bounces open.

"I just-" Patton pushes against the door, but Rachel doesn't let up. She puts her back to the door and uses her legs to try and push it shut.

"How do you know about the box?" she asks.

"Have you watched the dvd?"

"Because if you know about the box, then other people know and urgh!"

"If you just let me explain-"

"If other people know then the colleges know and they'll never let me in! I'll be checked into a psych ward instead."

Patton shoves his shoulder into the door and it opens all the way. Rachel shrieks as she tumbles head over heels across the living room rug.

"Let me talk!"

"I have pepper spray!" Rachel throws a stack of magazines at Patton and runs up the stairs.

"Wait!" Patton takes off after her, but it's too late. Rachel slams her bedroom door shut and locks it.

"_I'm calling the police!" _

"No wait! Please wait," Patton pleads with his palms flat against the door. He bumps his forehead against the door and sighs.

"_Umm,"_ Rachel says from inside. _"Can you hand me my cell phone? Just slip it under the door? I think I left it on the coffee table downstairs."_

Patton freezes, his mind going a mile a minute. "No," he says before he realizes it.

"…_Are you going to kill me?"_

"No."

"_Then what do you want?"_

"I want you to open that box. I want you to watch the dvd that's in there. That's…that's it, really," Patton trails off. "That's all."

Silence, then a shuffling noise comes from inside. Patton steps away from the door and sits against the wall on the other side of the hallway. He waits.

Eventually, Rachel emerges from her room, looking a little weary. Her eyes are different and she looks at Patton the way team leaders look when they're picking kids for basketball teams. "Do you remember?" She asks. Her voice is different too. It's lower pitched, with no room for argument. Patton feels bad saying:

"Remember what?"

A flicker of pain passes across Rachel's eyes and she turns away and beckons to him. "Come with me," she says. Patton follows her into the kitchen. Rachel motions him to sit on the stool at the island, then walks around the kitchen. She takes out a pie pan with a pre-made crust, cinnamon, vanilla, eggs. She adds blocks of butter and cream cheese to the pile before she glances at Patton.

"Well?" she says. "Talk. What happened?"

"I…I don't know. My parents at missing. My gramps. My sister. They're all kidnapped by this guy. I don't know who. He's asking for some guy named Nigel Uno. I don't know who he is either."

Rachel pauses, a lemon in her hand. "How do you know?"

"I called him. Or well, I called my sister's cell phone and he answered."

"How long ago was this?"

"Like…ten hours," Patton whispers. "Ten hours. They've been missing for ten hours…I…" He gets to his feet and the stool scrapes against the tile floor. "They're missing and I'm just _sitting here_ and what the hell are you _doing_?"

Rachel turns around, a whisk in her hand. "Patton-"

"There was this letter and I followed it and what the hell! Are you supposed to help me?"

"We will get your family back, I promise you. But right now you need to calm down."

"I am calm!"

"Sit. Down. And shut. Up," Rachel hisses. "Going out without a plan and without your memory will not help set your family free."

"…My memory?"

Rachel puts her hands on her hips. "Yes, your memory. You're missing some of your memory. That's what that dvd was for. What happened to it?"

"It was broken to bits, but that doesn't prove anything. I would know if I had amnesia."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And I don't have amnesia."

Rachel smirks. "You'd be wrong."

"Prove it."

Rachel crosses her arms and looks Patton up and down for a few moments. "So, that surfing lesson…"

"You…that was real?"

"Heck yeah," Rachel gave that wicked smirk. "Kind of cut short, wasn't it?"

"It was?"

"Yeah. I mean, do you remember saying goodbye?"

Patton searches his memory for the end of that surfing lesson. He remembers arriving and he remembers her. He also remembers having lunch (it was spam musubi), but when it comes to saying goodbye, there's nothing. It fades into nothing.

"No," Patton says and Rachel's smile dims.

"Of course you wouldn't," she turns back to her work.

"Wait, I want to remember. I want to know what happened."

"…I want you to remember too."

"So is there an extra dvd I could watch?"

"No, there's just the one."

"Then maybe you can tell me what happened-"

"I can't just tell you," Rachel snaps over her shoulder, her face bright red. "That's not how it works."

"Then what-"

"Let me think! Jeeze, I'm not a freaking miracle worker, okay?"

Silence. Patton sits back down as Rachel continues to throw things into the mixing bowl. She mixes everything together with the whisk, and as she pours the mix into the pie pan with the crust, she says,

"I know how to jog your memory."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Rachel gives a shuddery sigh as she puts the pie pan into the oven. She straightens up and dusts off her hands. "I'm gonna have to punch you in the face."

"…You're lying."

"I, uh, you have to close your eyes," Rachel looks down at her feet. "You have to brace yourself."

"But you've told me what you're going to do. Isn't stuff like this supposed to be a surprise?"

"No, it'll work. Just close your eyes. No peeking."

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay," Patton stands up and shakes out his arms to limber up. "Just…not the nose, okay?"

"Stay still."

"Okay."

"Close your eyes."

"Okay."

"…Stop cringing."

"Okay."

"On three, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Patton holds his breath and waits for the count, only it never comes. He flinches when he feels something brush his face.

"Are you counti-" he's cut off by lips. On his. By Rachel. By Rachel kissing him. Patton smells the cinnamon and the lemon and even the cream cheese from batter that Rachel whipped up and he's thrown, back, back, back in time, back to the beach, back to the day he gave her that surfing lesson.

Rachel was good at surfing, if only because she was already athletic and had a good sense of balance. This didn't stop her from having insane wipeouts though. Patton laughed the hardest at the last one.

They had spam musubi for lunch. Rachel had never eaten it before, so when she ended up not liking it all that much, she took him by the arm in search of something else to chase it.

"There's chicken katsu over there," Patton said.

"No, what about something sweet?"

"Like what? A snow cone?"

They ended up going to a frozen yogurt shop. It was right off the boardwalk and the employee was sweeping sand out the door. Rachel picked the cheesecake-flavored yogurt and topped it with graham cracker crumbs.

"What is it with you and that flavor," Patton asked. Rachel scraped her spoon against the inside of the cup.

"It's good. I can't really explain it. It's like you when you pack powder."

"You can't eat powder."

"Mmm," Rachel paused to eat more yogurt. "That's not what Virginia says."

"Virginia's crazy."

"This is true. But she's not a liar."

"Okay fine. But that's still a bad comparison."

That was when they were attacked. King Sandy, along with his cousins, were trying to conquer all the sand castles in the world, and they were making excellent progress.

Patton and Rachel ended up defeating them with a juicebox and the plastic spoon Rachel used to eat her frozen yogurt. Somehow, during their fight, patches of sand were melted into glass. Patton stepped on a particular patch that was cooled by the rising tide and wondered how it looked like by itself. He crouched down and felt around for the edge.

"Hey," Rachel said. Patton grinned at her and stepped off the glass pad.

"'Sup?"

"So, I was thinking."

"Yeah?"

"I like surfing. I'd like to do this again."

"Sure. But you know, you kinda don't need me anymore. You already have all the basics down. All you need is practice. I bet you could even teach Fanny."

"Hah. Nah, Fanny won't go for something like this."

"No?"

"It's the sun. Her skin hates it. She doesn't tan at all; just freckles and burns."

"What about that one retreat in sector J? She was in the sun then."

"And you didn't see her for two weeks afterwards, right?"

"…It was that bad?"

"So bad. That's all I'm saying."

"Well, I'm glad you're able to come out here. I guess, if you ever wanna surf again, just call me up and I'll come with. I'll teach you some tricks too."

"Like a level two crash course?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"I'd like that," Rachel said. She tilted her head. "Come here. I need to tell you a secret."

"Huh?" Patton stood up and turned his head a little. "What's up?"

Rachel leaned in close, as if to whisper something into his ear, but then changed direction and pressed her lips to the corner of Patton's mouth. The smell of cheesecake frozen yogurt wafted into his nose.

= = = ... = = =

Patton wakes up on the couch in the living room, under a tartan blanket. He sits up and sees Rachel hanging up the kitchen phone. She bows her head and crumples a paper in her hand.

"Rachel," Patton asks. The girl glances at him and shakes her head.

"I was afraid," Rachel whispers. Her words are clear in the still house. "My parents went to a conference last week. They took took Harvey with them and they left me to house-sit." She holds up the crumpled paper. "This was the list of emergency numbers that they gave me and none of them work."

"Father," Patton says. Rachel clucks her tongue and sighs.

"Father."

"We'll get 'em back, Rachel," Patton says.

"He's desperate now," she says. "His style must have changed from when we saw him last. It'll be tough."

Patton spreads his arms wide. "Don't you know? We're teenagers now. We play hard too."

Rachel gives that wicked grin that makes Patton's stomach flip. "I have a plan."

= = = … = = =

I have to consolidate all the Trigger ideas into one story somehow. I just keep on coming up with them. Let me just say: if it wasn't for Numbuh Phenon's headcanon about Rachel liking cheesecake, then Patton wouldn't have such a memory trigger.


End file.
